The Helen Bianchin Collection

by Helen Bianchin

  Her lips parted, but anything she might have said remained locked in her throat.

  ‘Or how I felt when I discovered you were pregnant with our child?’

  ‘You used emotional blackmail.’

  ‘It was the only weapon I had.’

  ‘You wanted the child—’

  ‘I wanted you.’ He brought her close and tilted her chin. ‘Sweet Ana. Our child is a wonderful bonus, a joy I rejoice in because it represents life. Yours, mine, ours. But make no mistake. You are my reason for living. My heart. My soul.’

  She reached up and pulled his head down to hers.

  ‘I love you. I always have. Always will. For the rest of my life.’

  Then she kissed him, deeply, emotively with great passion, and it was a while before they broke apart to draw breath.

  ‘How dedicated are you to walking along the beach?’

  Her eyes held an impish twinkle that matched the laughter in her voice, and he chose to humour her.

  ‘Do you have a better idea?’

  She held up her hand and began counting options off on her fingers. ‘We could walk, and talk some more. Move up onto dry sand, sit down, admire the ocean view and reflect on the spirituality of being. We could engage in a discussion about how much longer I’m going to work.’

  ‘You know how I feel about you working.’

  Her eyes were large pools of brilliant sapphire, and deep enough for a man to drown in. And he was beginning to sink…

  ‘Please.’ She threaded her fingers through his own, and brought them to her lips. ‘Mornings.’

  ‘Three days a week.’

  ‘Four,’ Ana amended.

  ‘For another two months,’ he conceded.

  ‘Three.’

  He slid his hands up to cup her face. ‘What in hell am I going to do with you, woman?’

  ‘Love me,’ she said solemnly. ‘You do it very well.’

  ‘What hope will I have if we produce a blonde-haired, blue-eyed little imp…your image in miniature?’ he groaned, bringing his mouth down to hers.

  ‘She’ll twist you round her little finger at the first blink of an eye.’ She offered him a delighted smile. ‘And you’ll become her devoted slave for life.’

  ‘Without doubt.’ The thought of holding their child for the first time almost brought him undone.

  ‘Of course, it could be a boy…’ A dark-haired babe who’d grow tall and strong like his father. She felt quite misty-eyed at the image.

  ‘Are we all talked out yet?’ Luc teased as he curved an arm over her shoulders.

  ‘We could go back to the house…’

  ‘I guess that’s an option,’ he acceded indolently, loving the soft chuckle that escaped her lips.

  ‘And indulge each other?’ Ana pretended to consider. ‘Now, there’s the thing. It’s not even lunchtime.’

  He took pleasure in watching her play the game. ‘Do you have a specific time in mind?’

  ‘Well,’ she began carefully, ‘given that I’m slightly incapacitated,’ she indicated the dressing on one forearm, and her bandaged hand, ‘it would mean you’ll have to do most of the work. Perhaps you might like to rest first?’

  ‘Minx.’

  ‘Of course, the foreplay needn’t be too…’ she trailed to a delicate pause ‘…energetic.’

  His deep, throaty laughter startled a resting gull, and it flew into the air uttering a shrill squawk before circling towards the rocky outcrop.

  ‘Let’s just see whose energy is depleted first, hmm?’ He swept an arm beneath her knees and lifted her high against his chest.

  ‘Put me down.’ A delicious chuckle found voice. ‘What if someone is watching? Whatever will they think?’

  ‘That we’re two people very much in love.’

  And they’d be right. Thank God. ‘Then it’s OK.’ She pressed a kiss to his temple. ‘But please put me down.’ Her eyes were level with his own, and for a moment it seemed as if they each caught a glimpse into each other’s soul. ‘I want you to conserve your energy.’

  Her smile melted his heart. ‘And you’re doubtful I will, if I carry you back to the house?’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t want you to be diminished in any way.’

  Luc let her slip carefully onto her feet, then he looped an arm around her shoulders. ‘Home, agape mou. I need to hold you, touch, make love to you.’

  She turned her head to look at him as they began retracing their steps. ‘Ditto.’

  It had been, Ana reflected much later as the sun sank down below the horizon, the most perfect day.

  Luc stood behind her, his arms curved round her waist, and she leaned back against him, exulting in the feel of his lips as he sought the sensitive hollow at the edge of her neck.

  ‘Beautiful.’

  He wasn’t referring to the view beyond the wall of glass, but the woman he held so close to his heart.

  His wife, the love of his life.

  The Greek Bridegroom

  Helen Bianchin

  CHAPTER ONE

  THERE were some days when it just didn’t pay to get out of bed, Rebekah groaned as she lifted her head from the pillow and caught sight of the digital clock.

  It was blinking, indicating a power failure through the night had disrupted the alarm mechanism.

  She fumbled for her watch, checked the time and uttered a muffled oath as she slid from the bed, then cursed out loud as she stubbed her toe on her way to the en suite.

  The icy blast of water ensured the quickest shower on record, and, dressed, she raced into the kitchen, dished out fresh food for the cat, snatched a container of orange juice from the refrigerator, gulped a mouthful, then she collected her bag and took the lift down to the underground car park.

  Seconds later she slid in behind the wheel of the Blooms and Bouquets van, inserted the key into the ignition…and nothing.

  Don’t do this to me, she begged as the engine refused to kick over. Please don’t do this to me! During the ensuing minutes she coaxed, cajoled, promised, and still it remained as dead as a doornail.

  She restrained the urge to scream in frustration. Talk about having Friday the thirteenth on a Tuesday!

  Raising her head heavenward and praying to the deity didn’t work either.

  What else could go wrong?

  It was better she didn’t ask, for it might tempt fate to fling another disaster in her path.

  There was nothing else to do but get behind the wheel of her MG and send the sleek red sports car purring through Sydney’s suburban streets.

  Not exactly a suitable vehicle in which to transport flowers to the Double Bay florist shop she co-owned with her sister, Ana.

  In the early pre-dawn hours there wasn’t much traffic, and already the city was stirring to life. Pie-carts were closing up after the long night, the council street-sweeping trucks whined along, clearing debris from the gutters, and fruit and vegetable vendors transported their supplies from the city markets. Taxis carrying businessmen to catch the early flights interstate, petrol tankers beginning deliveries.

  It was a time of day Rebekah enjoyed, and she activated a popular radio station on the console and felt her spirits lift with the upbeat music.

  Soon the sun would lift above the horizon, and the grey shadows would disperse, bestowing everything with light and colour.

  A sweeping glance was all it took at the markets to determine the best of the blooms were gone, and she figured her order, placed it, then turned the car towards Double Bay.

  The shop was situated in a trendy élite area, and thanks to a bequest from her late mother the business was free from any loan encumbrances.

  It was six-thirty when she unlocked the outer door and she tripped the lights, filled the coffee percolator, then set to work.

  While the percolator took its time, she booted up the computer and downloaded email orders, then she checked the fax machine.

  They were in for a busy day, and there was a need to adjust her order. She crossed
to the phone, made the call, then she rang a mechanic to go check the van.

  Hot, sweet black coffee boosted her energy levels, and she was on her third and last cup for the day when Ana arrived.

  Looking at her sister was akin to seeing a mirror image of herself…almost. They shared the same petite height, fine-boned features, slender curves and naturally blonde hair. Two years separated them in age, with Ana the eldest and twenty-seven. Their natural personalities were similar, although Rebekah felt she held an edge when it came to determined resolve.

  The necessity for self-survival in an abusive relationship had provided a strength of will she hadn’t been aware she possessed. It had also implanted an ingrained distrust of men.

  A year’s engagement to Brad Somerville, a beautiful wedding, embarking on a dream honeymoon…nothing prepared her for the sudden change in the man she’d vowed to love and honour less than ten hours before.

  At first she’d thought it was something she’d done or said. Verbal abuse was bad enough; physical abuse was something else. Jealous, possessive to the point of obsessiveness, he soon killed any feelings she had for him, and after three months of living in a hellish marriage she’d simply packed a bag and walked out of his life.

  Following the divorce she’d legally reverted to her maiden name, bought an apartment, adopted a beautiful Burmilla kitten whom she’d named Millie, and lived to work.

  ‘Hi.’ Rebekah summoned a sympathetic smile as she glimpsed the slight air of fatigue evident in Ana’s expression. ‘Late night? Morning sickness?’

  ‘That bad, huh?’ her sister queried as she crossed to the computer and began cross-checking the day’s orders.

  ‘Maybe you should listen to Luc and cut down your hours.’

  Ana shot her a telling glance. ‘You’re supposed to be on my side.’

  Rebekah wrinkled her nose in humour. ‘I am, believe me.’

  ‘What would I do in that great house all day? Petros is the ultimate manservant.’

  The phone rang, and Ana picked up, listened, then handed over the cordless receiver. ‘For you.’

  It was the mechanic with word all the van needed was a new battery, which he’d install, and mail her the account.

  ‘Problems?’

  ‘The van wouldn’t start.’ She relayed the repercussions, then took the next phone call.

  It didn’t get better as the morning wore on. A difficult customer took most of her patience, and another complained bitterly about the cost of florists’ delivery charges.

  Food, she needed food. It was almost midday, and the energy boost from juice, coffee and a cereal bar had clearly dissipated.

  ‘I’ll go pick up a salad sandwich. Then you can take a lunch break.’

  Ana glanced up from the computer. ‘I can eat lunch on the run just as well as you.’

  ‘But you won’t,’ Rebekah said firmly. ‘You’ll buy a magazine, seat yourself at any one of the nearby café’s, and take your time over a latte and something sensible to eat.’

  Ana rolled her eyes. ‘Tea,’ she amended with a grimace. ‘And if you begin treating me like a precious pregnant princess, I’ll hit you!’

  She laughed, a low, throaty chuckle, and her eyes held a mischievous gleam. ‘Petros?’ she hazarded. The middle-aged manservant had been part of Luc’s household for years, well before she’d first met Ana’s inimitable husband. ‘Does he still refer to you as Ms Dimitriades?’

  Ana’s laughter was infectious. ‘He considers anything less would be regarded as undignified.’

  She adored her sister, and they’d been the best of friends since she could remember, sharing, caring, close. Ana’s marriage to Luc Dimitriades a year ago had been one of the happiest moments of her life.

  ‘Luc has made a booking for dinner this evening.’

  Ana named the restaurant, and Rebekah’s eyebrows rose a fraction. It numbered as one of the ritziest places in town. ‘We’d like you to join us. Please,’ she added. ‘Two Dimitriades men are too much for one woman to handle.’

  Rebekah felt an icy shiver slither the length of her spine, and the nerves in her stomach tightened into a painful ball. Please let her voice give no hint to her inner turmoil. ‘One of Luc’s cousins is in town?’ Amazing she could sound so calm, when her defence mechanism had already moved to alert, and her mind issued the silent scream Please don’t let it be Jace.

  ‘Yes. Jace arrived yesterday from the States.’

  No. The silent scream rose and died in her throat as Jace Dimitriades’ image rose to the fore to taunt her.

  Tall, broad shoulders, chiselled features, piercing dark grey eyes, and a mouth to die for.

  She had reason to know how it felt to have that mouth possess her own. Even now, a year later, she still retained a vivid memory of Luc and Ana’s wedding, partnered as her sister’s maid of honour with Jace as Luc’s best man. How for several hours she’d been aware of Jace’s close proximity, the touch of his hand at her waist, the brush of his body against her own as they assembled for bridal group photos.

  Dancing with him had been a nightmare. Sensual heat spiked her blood and sent it racing through her veins. Sexual chemistry at its most base level.

  Hadn’t that been the real reason for her momentary escape onto the terrace within minutes of Luc and Ana taking their leave?

  Yet Jace was there, standing close, almost caging her against the terrace railing as she turned to move away.

  That had been her mistake, for it brought her much too close to him. The next instant his lips brushed her cheek, then slid to savour her mouth, and in a moment of sheer madness she angled her mouth to his own.

  His instant response was devastating.

  Shocked didn’t cover it. No one had kissed her quite like that. As if somehow he’d reached down into the depths of her soul, tasted, savoured, with intent to conquer. It left her feeling as if she’d leapt off a high cliff and was in dangerous free fall. Exhilarated by the instinctive knowledge he would catch her…before she hit the ground.

  Who was the first to break contact? To this day she couldn’t be sure. All she remembered was something inexplicable in those dark grey eyes, a stillness that held a waiting, watching quality as she went from shock to dismay in a few seconds flat.

  Anger kicked in, and she slapped him…hard. Then she walked away, aware that he made no effort to stop her. She rejoined the wedding guests, and smiled until her facial muscles ached.

  Afterwards had come the rage…with herself for initiating something so foolish, and with him for indulging it.

  Now Jace Dimitriades was back in town, and Ana and Luc expected her to make up a foursome for dinner?

  ‘No,’ she reiterated aloud.

  ‘No…you don’t want to.’ Ana’s gaze narrowed as she attempted to analyse her sister’s expression. ‘Or no, you can’t?’

  ‘Choose whichever one you like.’

  Ana appeared to take a deep breath. ‘OK. Are you going to tell me about it, or do I have to drag it out of you?’

  ‘Neither. Simply accept I decline your invitation.’

  ‘That won’t wash, and you know it. You haven’t seen Jace since the wedding.’ Her sister’s eyes assumed a speculative gleam. ‘What did he do? Kiss you?’

  Oh, my. ‘On what do you base that assumption?’ she managed calmly, and saw Ana’s gaze narrow.

  There was a telling silence. ‘It’s not like you to wimp out,’ her sister said at last.

  Wimp? ‘Forgive me, but I’m not in the mood to embark on a verbal fencing match with a man who’d enjoy every thrust and parry!’

  ‘Think of the fun you’ll have in besting him,’ Ana offered persuasively.

  Rebekah glimpsed the mischievous challenge in those guileless blue eyes, and her lips curved into a slow smile. ‘You’re wicked.’ Ana grinned. ‘The black Versace halter-neck will be fine.’

  A backless creation which didn’t allow for wearing a bra? ‘I haven’t said yes.’

  ‘We’ll come by and
collect you. And drop you home again.’

  She could imagine how easily, smoothly Jace could intercede and insist he escort her home in a taxi.

  ‘If I agree,’ she qualified, shooting Ana a warning glance. ‘I’ll drive my own car.’

  ‘Brava.’ Ana’s eyes gleamed with humour, and Rebekah shook her head in mock-despair as her sister executed the victory sign.

  It was almost seven when Rebekah slid from behind the wheel of her MG and allowed the uniformed attendant tend to valet parking.

  For the umpteenth time she silently questioned her sanity. Except retreat at this late stage wasn’t part of her agenda.

  How had the past year affected Jace Dimitriades?

  Did he have a lover? Was he between relationships?

  Fool, she mentally derided as she entered the restaurant foyer. Men of Jace Dimitriades’ calibre were never without a woman for long. She recollected Ana relaying Jace regularly commuted between London, Paris and Athens. He probably had a mistress in each major city.

  The maître d’ greeted her with polite regard, elicited her name, the booking, and directed her to the lounge bar, where patrons lingered over drinks.

  The ambience spelt money…serious money. The floral displays were real, not silk imitation. The carpet thick-piled and luxurious, the furniture expensive.

  A pianist was seated at a baby grand, effortlessly providing muted background music, and the drinks stewards were groomed to the nth degree.

  Refined class, Rebekah conceded as a steward enquired if he could assist locating her friends.

  He succeeded with smooth efficiency, and she followed in his wake.

  ‘Mr Dimitriades.’ His acknowledgement held deferential respect, and she had a ready smile in place, polite words of gratitude on her lips as she tilted her head.

  Only to have the smile freeze as she saw it was Jace, not Luc, who had moved forward to greet her.

  ‘Rebekah.’

  In one fluid movement he came close, lowered his head and brushed his lips to her cheek. The contact was stunningly brief, but it robbed the breath from her throat for all of five seconds before anger hit.